


Zarkons Last Fight

by KinWrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, after zarkon dies, in which zarkon is actually good, just hella possessed, old paladins come in at the end, season five spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinWrites/pseuds/KinWrites
Summary: set during zarkons fight with zarkon but in which zarkon and haggar got out of the rift possessed as hell by some rift fuckos. it happens i guess. Heavy, heavy angst inbound. i cried while writing this





	Zarkons Last Fight

Lotor sneered at Zarkon, hatred burning clearly in his eyes as he held the black bayard at the ready. “Does the memory of true power haunt you, Father?”  
A dry laugh escapes his lips, far out of Zarkon’s control. “Memory? Insolent brat, I have power beyond your imagining.” The moment the last word leaves his lips he rushes at Lotor, ready to strike.  
Zarkon screamed trying desperately to fight for control of himself, if only for a moment. If only for long enough to let his son know just how fiercely he loved him.  
If he could just talk to him long enough to let his son know he never meant to be so cruel. That he’d always accepted him as is, never wished for anyone else.  
The rift creatures arm slams into his chest, launching him backwards in his mind. Picking himself up is difficult, more so when he can scarcely breathe through broken ribs and lungs that are steadily filling with blood.He has to get up though, has to move, has to fight. He has to save his son.  
The creature possessing him laughed at his struggling, sneering. “Oh, is this one important? I supposed we’ll have to make his death a slow one. Painful, even!”  
In that moment all Zarkon can picture is young Lotor, long hair in pony tails and clutching the fabric of his dress and nervously saying “Daddy, I’m a boy.” Can only see the pain that flares over his features when the rift creature controlling him laughs and nearly backhands him, sneer on his lips.  
With the look of his wonderful son in pain, Zarkon shouts and fights harder against the binding of his own mind, desperate to save his son now more than ever. “No! Leave him alone!”  
The rift guardian turns to face Zarkon, an evil grin stretched far too wide over his features. “Why in the universe would I do that? It's much more fun to kill her, or maybe I'll turn her into a sex slave just for me.”  
Bile rises in his throat and he lashes out, claws swiping towards the rift beasts gut but just barely missing as shadowy tendrils lock around his arms and fling him.  
Looking back through his body's eyes, he watches in frozen terror as his own fist rushes towards his son, struggling momentarily forgotten as fear clutches his heart, freezes his blood in a rush of ice. The ice in his veins thaws a bit upon watching as Lotor skillfully dodges the blow. Rushing back up to his feet he lunges at Zarkon, at his own father. Zarkon’s hand swipes out and flings him across the barren ground, stirring up dirt as Lotor bounces across it.  
A harsh laugh escapes from Zarkon’s possessed body when Lotor doesn’t move to rise. Just a low pained groan escaping Lotor’s throat. Stalking forward on heavy footsteps, the rift creature is clearly preparing a final blow.  
Zarkon’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes what's happening. Lotor’s body is still unnaturally still. A scream of anguish tears from Zarkon, struggles renewed in a vain attempt to save his son. Maybe it was the scream that did it but for half a tick, Zarkon was in control. The world cleared of the yellow haze that had been a permanent fixture ever since the rift. Sucking in a harsh breath, he manages two steps towards his son before the rift creature is in control again. It flings him into some corner of his own mind. He screams and chokes on a sob as his body continues towards Lotor, clearly set on a finishing blow. Cold, heavy chains wrap around his arms, keeping him trapped in this corner despite how frantically he struggles and lashes out, claws fully extended and eyes a blaze with horrified rage. A claw catches in one of the rings of chain and snaps off, forcing a strangled scream from his throat. Blood immediately spurts from the wound, soaking the ground of his mindscape.  
In the real world, “Zarkon” has nearly reached Lotor, oblivious to the lions rushing towards him until a blast catches his chest, forcing him back a foot or two. He looks up at them, lifts the black bayard that he had gotten a hold of at some point during the fight. Its shape is that of a handheld cannon gun, charging a blast directed at the lions. Another blast hits him from behind and a leg gives out beneath his weight, a shout breaking free from his lips as the bayards charge dissipates. Lifting it once more to charge a blast at the lions, he doesn’t notice Lotor lunging at him from behind. His sword breaks down across Zarkon’s back, a deep heavy gash severing his spine and sending bits of bone into his heart and lungs. The rift creature leaves with a heavy screech, leaving the real Zarkon in control once more. He turns his head to look at Lotor, his son who he’d never gotten the chance to know.  
His mind drifts to what could have been if they’d never entered the rift. Honerva would have died but all this war, all this pain never would have been. Lotor would have grown up with a good father, never doubting that he was loved. Visits to his mother's grave would have been frequent, at least once a decaphoeb. This silly war never would have came to fruition. Alfor, his dear friend, would not have been slain by his own hand.  
Zarkon guesses that his two main regrets are the rift, and never being able to tell his son how much he was loved. Death was cold, but an existence of watching your mate go insane and your son be abused was much colder for him. He welcomed death with near open arms, choked on a sob when he saw Alfor and the paladins of old. Broken apologies choking in his throat and being forced through chapped lips.  
Blaytz grins with watery eyes and rushes forward to hug Zarkon tightly. “It’s okay, Zar. We know and we love you anyway.”  
Alfor just smiled, gentle in the way that said he knew. “Come on, Zar. It’s time to go home.”


End file.
